


A Junker's Song

by Tobiyond



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Actual Junker Hana Song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobiyond/pseuds/Tobiyond
Summary: A young boy stumbles upon an even younger girl in the outback. Together, they're going to take the wasteland by storm. - - a series of related drabbles based on D.Va's Junker skin





	1. Crash

Alone. Since the bright boom in the sky, Jamie had been alone. At first it was exciting. He could do whatever he wanted. He could stay up late. He could eat any snacks he stumbled across. No one could stop him. Until they did. 

Why would he have been looking out for mines? What a silly thing to worry about, even in retrospect. As he lay on the ground clutching what remained of his leg and trying not to scream, he suddenly didn’t want to be alone anymore.

For six long years he fought against the world. There was no kindness for a ratty little boy with one leg, but he managed. ‘Just trust yourself,’ he would say, “and everything will be okay.’ That kept him alive. Kept the rest of him whole. That was enough. Until it wasn’t.

Jamie heard the explosion as the plane went down, knew there would be Junkers coming for miles to scavenge, but he had to try. There weren’t many survivors and they would’ve done better to die in the crash. He tried not to think about where the people were being taken. He just wanted his scrap. 

“Please,” the small voice startled him as he lifted a chunk of the wing to search. He was looking for metal. Not people. But there she was. Small. Fragile. Bleeding. Crying. Jamie considered dropping the wing to spare her the other Junkers. Then she was talking. He didn’t understand most of what she was saying, some sort of language he’d never heard before tumbling from her lips frantically. 

“Family,” she managed to say, catching his attention. “Gone. Please. Help.” The last word was so desperate. His chest hurt as he tried to repeat his mantra. Just trust yourself. She was trying to get up, but her leg was twisted at a strange angle. Just trust yourself. He looked past her to see the older Junkers wrangling another survivor out of the wreckage. A male. No good to them. A bullet through the skull for his trouble.

Just trust yourself. Just trust. . . .His shoulder took the brunt of the metal’s weight as he braced himself against it. He had to be quick. Free arm reaching out, he offered a hand to the girl. She sniffled, wiping a bit of the blood trickling down her face away. She was still scared but she took his hand. 

She weighed nothing. Jamie could’ve carried her all day. Probably. If he wasn’t worried about the other Junkers. He didn’t rest until they were safely in the dug out sand pit he called a home. Setting her down on a woven grass mat, he smiled.

“Jamie,” he said, pointing at himself and offering her his hand again, this time in greeting. This time there was no hesitation. Her grip was tight and thankful, tears in her eyes again.

“Hana.”


	2. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Fast forward twelve years -

“. . . last chance Jamie. . .” Junkrat’s eyes shot open just as he heard the telltale beeping of his shelter’s evacuation mechanism. There were a few seconds for him to try straightening out his legs before the Mech forcefully deposited him on the ground. “Good morning sleepyhead!” Eyes narrowed, he glanced up at the source of the chipper voice. The younger girl was leaning over him, short hair falling in front of her goggles as she didn’t even pretend to hold back her giggles. “I was only calling your name for ten minutes, so don’t even look at me like that.” He frowned, but forced himself to sit up, the familiar ache in his back helping to shake off the weariness. 

“Six hours already?” His voice was still rough as he looked up to the sky. Hm. The moon was directly overhead. He could’ve sworn he’d just curled up in the Mech a few minutes ago. Scraprabbit, Hana, drug him back out of his thoughts by tossing her gun into his lap. Vest and gloves were already discarded and she stood with her hands on her hips in front of him. 

“Yep. Six hours of nothing but counting lizards and I’m ready for bed.” Junkrat could only nod in response. They’d slept in shifts for as long as he could remember which, if he was being honest with himself, wasn’t very long. No reason for him to complain about it now, especially with Scraps always willing to take first watch. Something about the sunlight keeping her from sleeping if she tried too early. He worked on standing up as she finished dressing down for the night, stretching out his limbs that were always too cramped. Scraps always bugged him about wearing his leg when he slept. Claimed it would just make what was left of his leg worse. With how badly it was throbbing, he was starting to believe her.

“Want me to wake ya at sunrise or let the big fireball do it herself?” He grinned over his shoulder at her huff. She hated getting woken by direct sunlight and usually Junkrat would spare her out of the goodness of his heart. Or something like that. With his tailbone still aching from being thrown out of the Mech, he was strongly considering turning her towards the horizon in the morning. See how she liked a rude awakening. The boot she threw at his head for the question didn’t help her case.

“When we get moving tomorrow, I want to hit that scrapyard outside of Little Sydney.” She wasn’t going to answer his taunt. Fair enough. Little Sydney was a bit cleaner, a little more organized than the spots they usually hit, but that might mean a good haul. Risk versus reward. “See about some parts to expand Meka’s cab.” That got his attention. Scraps was a small girl and since she was the main pilot, Meka needed to be tailored mostly for her size. This wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t also use the Mech for shelter. Junkrat couldn’t even count the number of times he’d woken up somehow upside down in the cab with a cramp consuming his entire remaining leg. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did fidget just a little in his sleep.

“Might even make enough room for me to ride inside.” He offered as she pulled down the back hatch and climbed inside. As much as he loved the thrill of riding on top of the speeding vehicle, he did have a series of scars down his back from a particularly bad fall and roadrash was no fun at all. Scraps laughed.

“Let’s not get too crazy.” She adjusted herself in the seat until she could lay on her back, headphones dangling on the bar just above her head. Junkrat always felt a small twinge of guilt when he saw her without them on. The permanently charred skin around her right ear wasn’t covered very well by the short hair she kept and he swore he could hear her screaming all over again as he misjudged how far he needed to throw that bomb. They were young. He was stupid. She paid for it. 

“Jamie?” Her soft voice brought him back to the present. He’d been staring. Well, staring but not staring. She knew that look all too well and reached her hand out through the front of the Mech. At first, he looked away. Then he heard her fingers snapping, loud and demanding. He couldn’t stand the sound and she knew it. Sighing, he shuffled forward and placed his cheek against her palm. It was warm, a nice contrast to the cool night air. She was warm. She kept him grounded and in return, he kept her afloat when she felt like the world was pulling her under. They took care of each other. Balanced each other. That’s what family was for.

“You got a lot of drivin’ to do tomorrow.” He murmured as she rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone, keeping him from delving back down into his thoughts. “Better get to sleeping.” Reluctantly, he pulled away and put both hands on his hips. Some attempt at a stance of authority. Scraps laughed again. 

“Make sure all your stuff is ready. Might have to throw a few punches for the good stuff.” She stretched out in the Mech, arms crossed behind her head as she spoke. She’d be asleep in moments, this he already knew. It was a good idea, though. He hadn’t cleaned the sand out of his launcher in a while and a little maintenance on his leg wouldn’t hurt either.

Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

He could feel it in his bones.


	3. Hooked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was going to be a good day.

Seventeen. There were exactly seventeen lizards living under a rock near the campsite. There had been eighteen, but being on watch made Junkrat hungry. And restless. And cold. Grumbling quietly to himself, he stood from the lizard rock and made his way back to the Mech. The sun would be up soon, but he was out of ways to pass the time. His launcher was freshly cleaned of any build up, each grenade sporting a smiling face. The joints on his leg were oiled, not even creaking anymore when he bent the knee. Scraps would appreciate that. The noise drove her nuts. When she could hear it.

There came the guilt again. He was a bomber. Explosions were his livelihood. Always had been. It made sense for his ears to be practically useless. Not her. Small gun that was nice and light. More for distraction than real damage until she could get to Meka. She’d been wearing headphones since he’d found that pair for her in the wreckage. Kept her calm. Reminded her of home, she’d said. New pairs whenever one broke or she outgrew them. Some bought in a settlement. Some stolen out of bags.

His eyes traveled over to the pair hanging above her. She picked them out. Some poor sod just happened to be wearing them at the time. No matter. Junkrat made sure she got the birthday present that she wanted, even if he did have to clean a little blood off of them first. 

Her ears were always safe, always protected. She would have excellent hearing if it weren’t for him. His body shifted and he leaned against one of Meka’s guns. Above him, Scraps stirred, turning onto her side with mumbled words he didn’t understand. Korean. Sometimes he forgot she wasn’t born in Australia. She took to it so well. He found himself wondering if she had any other family left. Maybe grandparents who weren’t on the plane? Aunts? Uncles? At least he knew everyone was dead. The Liberation Front made sure of that. 

He asked her once what she would do if she found out her family was still alive. Would she go to them? Go live somewhere nice. Somewhere peaceful. She’d laughed so hard her goggles slid down. Said the only family that mattered was currently sitting in front of her being a sap. He laughed with her after that. The memory did wonders for his mood. No matter how much he might mess up, he would still have her. That was comforting. 

The sound of his stomach growling pulled his thoughts back to his body. Odd. He ate an entire lizard. Why was he still hungry? Flesh hand on his stomach, he waited. The growl sounded again, but this time he knew it wasn’t from him. Panic flashed through his mind as he scrambled to his feet. Roaring. That was the sound. Engines. His peg leg clunked loudly against the metal of Meka’s shell as he scaled to the top for a better look.

Clouds approaching. Clouds and thunder. Bikers. The clanging of his leg as he slammed it into the top of the Mech would echo across the landscape, but he didn’t care. They were headed straight for him. Time to get up.

“Oooooi. Rat c’mon. I know it hasn’t been six hours yet.” Scraps was rubbing her eyes as she leaned out the front of the Mech. Junkrat just looked down at her, fire in his eyes. She paused. She heard it. Her hands flew to the controls, flicking switches as she wrestled her key out of a pocket. Junkrat hopped down to gather their things as quickly as possible. They needed to leave. They needed to leave now. 

Cars and trucks were common enough in the Outback. They offered protection and ramming abilities to those who could find the gas to power them. Only the biggest bad asses in Australia rode bikes anymore. They had to be if they were going to fly down the road with no protection to be found. A moving target for grenades and the occasional rocket launcher. If you could survive on a bike, you earned respect. If you could kill from a bike, you earned fear.

Gunshots rang out amidst the thunder and he heard Scraps yelp. They were too far away to do any harm, but close enough that the sound startled them both. No more time. He threw their bag over his shoulder, snagged his gun and climbed on top of the idling Mech. A thud of his leg on the hood and they were moving.

Wind whipped around Junkrat’s head as they took off. His leg easily snapped into a spot near the license plate to help him hang on so his hands were free. Just in case. A loud hoot came from the approaching clouds and he couldn’t help but grimace. He knew that call. From the sudden jerk of the Mech’s legs, Scraps did, too.

Bounty hunters. 

They were after him. Of course they were. A rage bubbled up in his chest at the thought of them interrupting an otherwise peaceful night. Everything had gone to Hell since the Omnium. He just wanted to take a look around. She wanted to find some better fuel. Where better to look than the remains? He hadn’t wanted to find any treasure, but he did. They could sell it. That was his first thought. They could sell it and be set up for life. Jamie and Hana living up life somewhere the water was clear and they could sleep at night. Fifty-fifty. Only fair after everything they’d been through.

The problem with selling something is you have to tell people what it is. People talk. Word spreads. Money is a dangerous motivator.

The head start helped, but Meka wasn’t made for speed. She was sturdy enough that they could take a few close range shotgun blasts if it came down to it, maybe knock a few of them out in the process. The boosters were an option that took too much gas to use unless absolutely necessary and the bikes were approaching too fast. Flight was out. Time for fight.

“Gonna try to spook ‘em.” He called down. At least if Scraps knew he was moving, she’d try to avoid any sudden turns. Checking to make sure his leg was still secure, he fished his launcher out of their bag and leaned as far forward as he could. Just two shots. The first sent one of the bikers skidding off with a panicked shout. For some reason, Junkers never expected grenades. Always too busy worshipping guns, he figured. The second shot landed in one of their laps. The resulting explosion and screams broke up the ranks beautifully. 

So much for spooking. At least they were only dealing with one bike now. He could hear Scraps laughing from the cab, her mirrors tilted so she could see his victory. One biker was nothing. They’d dealt with plenty worse.

“See if you can get us outside of the petrol station down the hill,” He gestured ahead with his gun. “We waste this dipstick then fuel up.” He knew he was being cocky, but two good shots would do that to a man. As soon as they were in a good spot, she could whip Meka around and unload enough bullets to stop a small van. They’d probably melt the poor sod on his status symbol of a bike. A nod met his plan and she shifted her mirrors to focus on the road again. It wasn’t far.

Another grenade loaded up. Maybe he could take the guy out before they even stopped. Show them that you don’t mess with. . . Hm. He didn’t have anything catchy for referring to the two of them together. They needed to change that if people were going to start coming after them. 

That thought in mind, he shifted his gun to his left hand so he could hang onto the Mech’s fender with the right and leaned back to run it by Scraps. She’d come up with something good. Something he could yell as he dealt with the last biker. 

“Hey, what’re w-” His voice stopped. His breathing stopped. He was pretty sure his heart stopped at the screech of metal grinding on metal. Head snapping to the source, he tried to wrap his brain around what he was seeing. The longer he looked, the more his mouth went dry and he fought to start his lungs again.

A hook. The biggest damn hook he’d ever seen in his life and it was wrapped around the fender. Nails stuck out of the top in some lettering that he couldn’t focus on to read. He was far too busy looking at where the nails were embedded in his lower arm. From what he could tell, they’d gone straight through him to attach to the Mech. He couldn’t help being impressed. That was a really nice throw. What a catch. No resistance. No pain yet. That wasn’t good. Junkrat knew delayed pain was always the worst.

He heard the bike rev through the muffled haze of his shocked senses and he knew. He knew what was about to happen but he couldn’t make himself move. Couldn’t even cry. The hunter twisted his ride around with a fierce tug on the hook’s chain. 

Screaming filled the early morning air.


	4. Deal

How odd. Junkrat could've sworn the sun was coming up before. Now, as he slowly came to his senses, there was very little light filtering through his eyelids. Nerves began to awaken along his body and his wished they wouldn't. 

Everything hurt. He could feel bruises and broken bones even without moving. The tiniest attempt at moving his fingers sent spikes of pain up and down his arms. Something was off. He wasn’t sure what, but his right side wasn’t responding right. 

Heh. He tried to laugh at the joke. Fire in his lungs cut him off. Grimacing, he made an attempt to take a deep breath, bring some oxygen to his aching body. A heavy weight on his chest stopped that, too. That wasn't right. Why couldn't he breathe? 

Thoughts swimming to find answers suddenly brought back what had happened. The bikes. The hook. Meka. Scraps. His mind was screaming and he made an attempt to sit up. Hana. Where was Hana? Was she okay? Did the biker catch up? 

Eyes shot open, dull sunlight filtering into them. Oh. That answered a few questions. The biker was currently leaning over him. The large form blocked most of the sun and a boot on his chest held Junkrat down. The hook was coated in blood and held firmly in the man’s hand. Whose blood?

Find words. Say something. He managed enough of a breath to laugh. The man didn’t move. Another breath.

“Pretty sure ya ain’t being paid to kill me,” Junkrat knew his type. Big. Brawn. Hired by a smaller Junker with more brains who didn’t want to do the dirty work of dragging him in himself. Bastard. “So why don’t ya back off a bit and let a bloke breath, eh?” It was cocky and a risk, but he needed the guy off of him to find Hana. 

The biker considered him for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about actually letting him up. Then he laughed. It was a loud, deep rumble of a thing and fit the man who looked to be ten feet tall from Junkrat’s perspective. His eyes darted around the area as the laughter trailed off. He could see Meka off to the side, smoke rising from the cabin. Not good. There was no blood except for on the back where he’d been sitting. Slightly more good. 

His mind was so busy piecing together the scenery that he almost missed the war cry. Her war cry. Scraps was a tiny thing, but that didn’t stop her from leaping up onto the biker’s back and wrapping her arms around his throat. He wasn’t expecting her. They never were.

He reached back for her, trying to bring the hook around to rip her off, but Scraps knew what she was doing. Her arms weren’t strong enough to choke this one like she normally did, so small sharp fingers scratched at the biker’s chin, slid up under the leather mask covering his face to try taking out his eyes. She always went for the eyes. It almost always worked.

He wasn’t having it. With what Junkrat could only describe as a bellow, the biker dropped his hook and reached both arms behind him. Giant hands found purchase in her vest and easily threw her over his head to hit the dirt hard next to him. She wasn’t hurt. Not too badly. A cut on her forehead and some bruises along her arms, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Good. She may not have injured their attacker, but he did step back. His hands worked to readjust his mask while the lenses never left their direction. He was watching them. Quietly. 

Without the large foot on his chest, Junkrat made another attempt to sit up. The dust was more slippery than he thought because he couldn’t seem to get a good grip. A small noise of frustration left his mouth as he glanced over to see what the problem was.

He wished he hadn’t.

“H-hana.” They didn’t use their real names in front of strangers, not unless it was an emergency. Looking down at the shredded flesh and muscle that used to be his lower right arm, Junkrat felt like this qualified. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should. Actually. . . now that he thought about it, nothing hurt as much as it should. Honestly. Was he in shock? Possibly. 

The sharp intake of breath at his side kept him from delving too far into those thoughts. Scraps stared at the wrecked arm, then looked back to Meka, eyeing the spot he’d been sitting on. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she let her gaze end on the biker. He was still watching them. Still quiet.

Scraps had a plan. He knew that look in her eyes. They weren’t going to be able to take this guy in a fight. Not like this. Meka was down and he would be lucky to even stand up without the blood loss knocking him back on his ass. She might be able to do some real damage, but at what cost? No. They weren’t about to risk that.

Face set in a hard frown, she stood. Barely five feet tall, she made for an amusing image in front of the giant with both hands on her hips.

“They’re paying you for Junkrat, right?” It wasn’t a question in her tone and the biker shifted. This was an unexpected turn for him, they could tell. Another moment of silence and he nodded. “We can pay you more.” Junkrat highly doubted that. He’d seen his bounty before and they’d never had that much money in their lives. What was her angle?

“You can’t and you won’t.” Oh, the big man could speak. His voice was just as deep and rumbling as his laugh had been and despite the situation, Rat found himself enjoying it. Scraps wasn’t put off at all by his words.

“People want him because of what he found. They want it for themselves. They want it because it could make them a fortune if sold to the right bidder.” She gestured with her hands at the horizon. “Way more for them to make then they’re paying you to do all the hard work.” Junkrat was getting nervous. What was she doing? Surely the guy already knew all of this.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a cut of that loot?” She offered with palms open towards him. That seemed to get his attention. “Look. Him and I are splitting this thing fifty-fifty.” She continued, ignoring the sound of protest the other Junker made from his spot on the ground. “You work that bike and that hook like no one I’ve ever seen. Come with us as like a. . . .” She struggled for a word. “. . . bodyguard. Keep us alive and my share is yours.” Junkrat didn’t like this plan. He didn’t like it at all. They couldn’t trust this guy. What was stopping him from dragging him off in his sleep? Killing Scraps and collecting on the bounty?

“You that desperate?” The biker moved closer, forcing her to look directly up at him in order to keep eye contact. As much eye contact as she could through lenses, anyway. He was right and they all knew it. They were desperate. It would take time to fix Meka. It would take time to fix him. He’d lost a limb before, but he needed his hand for building new grenades and to hold on when they traveled. It would be weeks before they were ready to move again if he could even find parts for a new arm. They’d be ripe for the taking.

“You in or not, big guy?” Scraps wasn’t playing into it. Her jaw was firmly set as she thrust her hand out in front of him. If he didn’t take the deal, she was ready to fight. Junkrat saw it in her posture and it worried him. He wouldn’t be able to help her. Not like this. As much as he hated the idea of trusting the biker, he hated the idea of her getting hurt more.

Another laugh from the man and his large hand was dwarfing hers in a handshake. He agreed. 

“Fifty percent of whatever the treasure sells for.” He repeated, making sure he knew what he was being offered. Scraps nodded. The relief in both of their faces was obvious. “Let me go get my bike.” The vehicle was parked a ways away, kept away from any potential firefight that might’ve broken out. Smart man. As soon as he turned his back and started heading towards it, Scraps was on her knees at Rat’s side.

“Fucking hell Jamie.” She was running her hands along the upper arm that remained, fingers twitching as she tried to figure out what to do. Her first instinct was to tie a tourniquet. After all, they both knew what was going to happen. The forearm and hand were worthless, but they weren’t gone. They needed to be gone. Junkrat’s breathing sped up at the thought. The shock was finally wearing off and pain was starting to seep into his brain. 

“Twenty five-twenty five.” He mumbled as the edges of his vision started to blur. He’d managed to stay conscious a pretty long time hadn’t he? It felt like a long time anyway. Scraps tilted her head in confusion as the strip of her shirt was secured just below his elbow. “My cut. Split it in half still. Half for you. Half for me.” She was his sister. He wasn’t about to rip her off. Especially now that she’d be helping to patch him back together all while keeping an eye on their new bodyguard.

“Half and half, Jamie.” Her voice was shaking as she rummaged in her pockets for a knife. “You and me.” She wanted something that would cut through flesh as quickly as possible, save him any extra pain. They both knew they only had small pocket knives.

The biker, their biker now, stood just outside of earshot. His bike had supplies, but not many and definitely not for three people. He did, however, have a knife. Drawn from a sheath on his back, he offered the weapon to Scraps. If he didn’t know what it was going to be used for, the action would have made Junkrat feel a little better about the guy. That was a big machete to be handing someone you might still be considering a target. 

“You, uh, you got a name?” The wounded Junker asked with a shudder to his voice, trying to distract himself from Scraps sizing up the blade against his arm. The man grunted, eyes on her. He wasn’t sure if she’d actually do it. No one ever actually expected her to be capable and that almost always got them killed. Almost. 

Content with the angle she’d need, Scraps leaned over Junkrat and pressed her forehead to his, a calming touch for the both of them, before she shifted back. A moment of thought and she quickly shimmied her belt out of her pants and folded it over. She nudged his mouth with it and he understood. No good swallowing your own tongue. The leather felt weird on his teeth and he groaned. Scraps sighed at the sound. Swallowing the drool already starting to build up, he obediently stuck his arm out at his side, away from the rest of his body. Wanted her to have a good shot after all. 

Over the sound of cracking bone and his own barely muffled shouting, Junkrat thought he heard the biker answer.

“Name’s Roadhog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be the last connected chapter for this part. The next ones will be jumping ahead about five years. Thanks for the comments and love so far. They really make me want to keep writing!

**Author's Note:**

> \- - tobiyond.tumblr.com - -


End file.
